Mothers and Daughters (2 page)

He’d been a cautious man, which sometimes irritated her. But he was a courageous man in many ways and a wonderful, amusing companion, enjoying the arts and travelling and being with friends. He was a stalwart prop in the dramas of life but had never seen the need to throw himself off a mountaintop attached to a kite, or dive deep to the bottom of the sea. Skiing on a well-kept piste, sailing in safe waters and riding a sleepy old horse was as daring as he got, but, as friends remarked, if that was his only fault she was lucky indeed.

Alice got off the bus at Marble Arch and crossed the few streets to Cecily’s flat. It was in a large, solid building, close to the Edgware Road. Each room was spacious with high ceilings and deemed ‘unmodernized’ by developers who often ripped out all the good features and charged a fortune for a series of characterless boxes squeezed into elegant, old buildings. She walked up to the first floor and rang the bell. The door opened and Kalinda, an Asian woman of indeterminable age, welcomed her.

‘She is looking forward to seeing you,’ she said, taking Alice’s coat.

Kalinda had been here for as long as Alice had known Cecily. She knew little about her except that Cecily rescued her from a violent marriage, finding her terrified in some refuge in the North of England. She’d given her a home and a life and, in exchange, Kalinda loved her and, now Cecily was old and frail, cared for her devotedly.

‘My dear, how good to see you.’ Cecily greeted her as she went into the living room. Alice bent over to kiss her soft, powdered cheek. ‘I hope you’ve some amusing gossip to tell me, I’m so bored of myself.’ She laughed, she was never one to be gloomy and Alice felt guilty that she had nothing amusing to say, only to tell her of Evie’s dreadful dilemma.

‘Not really.’ Alice sat down on the sofa beside her. The room was crammed with pictures and antique furniture that was once in a beautiful Queen Anne house in the country where Cecily had been brought up, but had long since been sold. There were phalanxes of photographs on almost every surface, men in uniform with the glamour of film stars, some of Cecily, as a young woman getting out of a spitfire and one of a huge bomber with Cecily, having just landed it, laughing beside it, pictures of people and places long gone. It was difficult to imagine those times now, to imagine that this old, still elegant lady, her hands clawed by arthritis, her hair pure white, was once that bright young woman who’d ferried spitfires and bombers across Britain, often without instruments, in fog and sometimes under fire, with the ease of driving a bus.

‘There must be something, how are the girls?’ Cecily examined Alice gravely with her faded eyes.

Alice felt the tremble of tears. She swallowed; Cecily did not care for weakness in herself or anyone else. ‘I saw Evie today, she…’ she paused.

‘She’s either pregnant or run off or about to with some man you don’t like, and probably belonging to someone else,’ Cecily filled in the gap.

Despite her concern, Alice laughed. ‘You’re right, how did you know?’ Had Evie already told her? Both her daughters loved visiting Cecily and listening to her war memories, and indeed stories of her romances.

‘I guessed, she’s such a pretty girl and a little reckless, just like you might have been if you hadn’t married dear, dependable Julian.’ Cecily smiled. ‘I loved my nephew very much and am still annoyed that he died so young, though at least he had a life, not like my two loves.’ Her eyes glazed over a moment as she remembered her young pilots who would be forever young while she had grown so old. ‘So,’ she shook off the memories, ‘what has she done?’

‘There’s a man in Suffolk, I don’t think you met him when you used to come and stay, but you know the sort who never grow up and possess more charm and sexual allure than they deserve. He’s got a lovely wife, she’s a potter and turns a blind eye to his sexual shenanigans, he’s a joke really, but Evie’s fallen for him and now she’s having his baby, to add to the others strewn around the district.’

‘Oh dear, and she
is
having it?’ Cecily looked concerned.

‘Yes, she’s vague about dates. The affair’s been going on for some time, since she moved in there, and well, termination doesn’t seem right somehow.’

‘No, not if the child’s wanted and will be loved, for you will love it, you know you will, Alice. And it is a life…’ She glanced again at her photographs of people whose lives had been cut short. ‘But I’m sorry for his wife having a sexually incontinent husband, but it sounds like she puts up with it. Sometimes it’s better to ignore it if the rest of the marriage is workable than go through an expensive divorce and family break-up.’

‘So far, Freya’s put up with it. She’s chucked him out a few times but she always takes him back. They have children together and amazingly they’re a close family. But I feel so bad that
my
daughter has got involved with him and is having his child.’

‘Very careless of her, but you know, my dear, she’s probably missing her father, and if this man is older, kinder than some of the young men she’s met, she may have been attracted to him, though foolish to end up with a baby, but there it is. Perhaps she should come back to London, bring the child up away from the gossip and his wife and children’s feelings.’

‘I don’t know what to do about it. Julian would have been such a support over this, though he wouldn’t approve of Nick as the father of his grandchild.’ It was hard enough to accept that they were going to be grandparents let alone that she was left to shoulder the burden alone.

Alice went on. ‘Nick runs a garden centre and Julian used to say all those budding, shooting plants must have turned up the switch to his fertility. He’s a joke, people tease him about which plant food he’s on to make him so randy.’

‘No,’ Cecily said, ‘Julian would not be happy about a man like this Nick fathering his beloved daughter’s child.’ She sighed, took a sip of tea, before saying, ‘so just as Evie got this wonderful commission for her drawing, she gets pregnant. She’ll be alone with this child and maybe expect too much from you, so don’t fall for that, Alice.’ She wagged one of her knotted fingers at her. ‘Don’t allow yourself to be locked away in the nursery again. It may be tempting, but you have your own life to lead and I sense there’s a lot of things you want to do while you still can.’

‘You’re right. I’m sure I’ll love the child when it’s born, but it’s Evie’s child and she must bear the brunt of it.’ Alice felt a dart of sympathy for Evie who, no doubt imagined this baby would lie happily in the sun while she illustrated her books and be no trouble at all. She’d probable felt the same when she was expecting Laura. She was twenty-one then, a year younger than Evie was now. But not until someone had their first child did they know how much they dominated their lives and how much commitment was needed. That was why two loving parents were better than one, but it was no good telling Evie that. Perhaps she hoped Nick would play a part in the child’s upbringing, even leave Freya and move into the cottage with her. If she thought that, she’d be disappointed.

‘So what is Laura’s reaction to this?’ Cecily asked her. ‘What does she think of being propelled into being an aunt?’

‘I don’t know. I haven’t discussed it with her yet. I’m going to ring her tonight when she’s home. I don’t know if Evie has told her. They are fond of each other but they can grate on each other too, having such different temperaments. Laura is more like Julian, sensible and solid.’ Alice smiled, ‘That makes her sound dull and I don’t mean to because she’s not, but you can rely on her, and that’s not because she’s two years older than Evie, you always could rely on her like you could on Julian.’

Cecily smiled, patted her hand, ‘Yes, you could rely on him and I’ve always thought Laura took after him. But even though your girls are in their early twenties, they are still quite young and have lost their beloved father so it’s bound to have an effect on them, though perhaps Evie’s reaction is a bit extreme. It will work out somehow, you’ll see.’

Alice left Cecily feeling happier, more positive. She had that effect on her, her love of life still burning bright. She’d lived through a war, with many of her young friends and the two men she’d loved killed or severely injured and yet she’d gone on and lived a good, an exciting life, as a photographer. She’d travelled the world until now, in her nineties, her body was slowing down, though she kept her mind active playing bridge, reading and listening to intelligent programmes.

Alice scolded herself, she was only in her mid-forties, and hopefully had plenty of life left in her yet, but it was high time that instead of thinking about everyone else, she got on with some of the things she wanted to do that Julian disapproved of, or perhaps disapproved was the wrong word, rather
not encouraged
her to do.

‘I wish you were here, darling, but as you’re not, you’re not to mind if I do some exciting things – paragliding, overnight skiing experiences, sleeping in the mountains – be more like Cecily really, though I’ll never be as brave as she was.’

She walked down Park Lane; a haze of late sun lingered in the air. She loved the elegant houses there and wondered how many were still lived in in their entirety and had not been turned into offices or flats. Perhaps, because she and Cecily had talked about Julian she felt him close to her now as if he’d be at home with her this evening, and she’d cook dinner and he’d open a bottle of wine, and they’d laugh together about Cecily’s stories of her life and her lovers.

She passed the war memorial to the animals that had given their lives in the war, and on down Park Lane still holding Julian’s memory to her. She reached a car showroom, the cars gleaming like huge beasts behind the glass. She stopped and stared at them, feeling Julian slipping away from her, but instead of the familiar, bleak emptiness, she had a sudden memory of being in such a glamorous car as that dark blue sport’s car, speeding down the road, the wind whipping back her hair and a feeling of exhilaration surging through her. Who had she been with? Julian would never have driven so fast!

Then she remembered it was Frank. Frank Trevelyan.

Though a few years younger than Julian, he was one of his closest friends and what her mother called ‘wild’. Always off somewhere, skiing the valleys, sailing in round-the-world boat races, piloting a plane to obscure islands. Soon after her marriage he’d gone to live in France and she didn’t see much of him, though he kept in touch with Julian and was Laura’s godfather. He hadn’t come to the funeral, being the other side of the world and unable to get back in time, but he’d written her a wonderful letter that made her cry just thinking of it.

She studied the cars in the showroom still thinking of that drive with Frank, the throb of the engine charging forward like a powerful animal and that sense of freedom. She laughed, ah, youth and the tricks the mind played. You couldn’t drive at those speeds on the roads today without breaking the law.

A Lexus convertible the colour of cranberries stood seductively before her. She imagined the power coiled taut within its shining skin, poised to spring into life. A sleek young man, his face leaden with arrogant boredom stared at her through the window, she felt suddenly reckless and before she knew it she’d pushed open the heavy glass door and gone inside.

‘Can I help you, Madame?’ The man glided across the floor like an old-fashioned matinee idol. For a second she sensed Julian urging caution but she ignored it, something stronger got hold of her, pushing her on.

‘I’m thinking of buying a Lexus convertible,’ she heard herself saying, almost giggling at the foolishness of it.

A look of surprise flitted across the matinee idol’s face, as well it might, but she pressed on.

‘It’s between this and a Bristol,’ she said, remembering that that was the car she’d been in with Frank. She peered inside the Lexus and then smiling directly at the sales man, she said, ‘I wonder, is it possible to have a test drive?’

The minute she said it she cursed herself for being such a fool, she may look younger than forty-six, but not that much younger. She imagined the matinee idol sitting her down in a quiet place with a cup of sweet tea while explaining such a thing was not possible; it was surely against health and safety. But to her amazement he agreed, showing her to a comfortable leather chair while he made arrangements and she sat there among all that glittering metal wondering what on earth had possessed her.

A short while ago she’d felt anxious and depressed at Evie’s thoughtless predicament, which, like it or not, would involve her, make her the granny she wasn’t yet ready to be – not in such circumstances – but the sight of these cars and thinking of Frank had turned her into this madwoman, filling her with energy, her lost youth bubbling in her like champagne.

The matinee idol, whose name was Nigel, bought the car onto the road and opened the passenger door for her to get in. He then got into the driver’s seat and eased the car out into the traffic. Alice guessed he’d agreed to a test drive so that he could have a spin in it himself. As the engine sprang into life and he sped down the road ‘to go somewhere less busy’, her spirits soared as they had all those years ago with Frank. In fact, she’d have been perfectly happy to let Nigel drive her where he would, but the moment came when they were ‘somewhere less busy’ and he offered her the wheel.

The power of the engine thrilled her, reminding her of an excitable horse rearing to go, but she kept it in check. They could hardly go very fast with all the traffic, but Alice felt so vibrant, as if she’d been swimming through pea soup all these months, getting nowhere.

They drove down some streets off the Bayswater Road and when the time came to return to the showroom she drove past Marble Arch, wishing Cecily could see her from her window, then on down Park Lane. The traffic snarled up here and whilst they were sat idling just outside the Dorchester she heard someone call out her name.

‘Alice, is that really you? Whatever are you doing in that car?’ And there were two friends, Margot Benson and Petra Lindsay, staring at her with amazed envy.

She smiled and waved to them both before roaring up the road as the space suddenly opened up before her.